


The Frozen World

by hazyamethyst



Category: Indie Music RPF, Last Shadow Puppets, Miles Kane - Fandom
Genre: M/M, this is the result of me listening to the frozen world on repeat and eating croissants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 11:42:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9895037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazyamethyst/pseuds/hazyamethyst
Summary: "It all commenced in 1789, in France.""I'll read it to you if you sit. On this occasion, you'll have the privilege to know about a certain revolutionary man called Alexander, and what exactly happened on an exceptionally rainy October 5 to him...to us."





	1. Un

 

"And so you'll talk, and talk, and talk until they've come to realise the aristocrats' plan to exploit the poor into subservience. Starve them, us, to death! The common people need not be tame if afraid, we must join forces and take Louis back to here, to our malaise-ridden Paris and allow his Highness to see other than polished silverware, lustrous floors and gilt-edged mirrors. Marie, you ask? I, my friends, am of the idea we should end her. 't is not our priority right now, however. Remember, the prices are still rising, our people are famished! We will not be complacent. Off you go now, like yesterday, and tomorrow. A revolt is imminent, please do take my word and don't be dissuaded by dejection as it'll only breed resignation and defeat. And we will not be defeated! Vive La France!"

Glasses clicked and Miles pulled at his shirt's collar, feeling hot in the clamped space. It was cheap wine but it seemed to do the trick and get people pumped up just fine. The speech was starting to get repetitive after a fortnight of walking around the city, from north to south and from east to west. On his foot there where blisters, as there were on everyone else's, he'd seen it, but far from complaining young and old alike took to see it a trophy. _Someday_...they'd say. Someday, and he looked back at Alexander, the man who had stopped him somewhere out in the streets at the beginning of the year, and talked his ear out expertly about everything wrong with the monarchy whilst practically dragging him into this same basement- only there were five other people. He'd seen his shirts getting ripped and his hair grow enough for him to knot a surprisingly fine blue tie around it. When asked if he'd turned to petty vandalism, reproach apparent, Alex had laughed and disclosed to him, via a whisper, ' _there's much potential for disruption in the evening hours when the crème de la crème of affluent men idle around Paris, sick with ennui. Oh, mon ami, you don't want to know the things I hint at, how careless they become with their possessions and words!'_

But, being someone with a great love for history, aside from a professor at the ever prestigious University of Paris, he did want to know everything and more there was to that cryptic yet so very charismatic character. As scared as he was of what he witnessed at times, all while his own well-to-do family was planning to flee France, he knew being around someone like Alex was a privilege not many could have and, even fewer, appreciate. To see history in the making! First hand! He'd long settled would do his best not to directly intervene, or report them, he'd be silent and watch it all unleash with a glint in his eye as he jotted it all down at night, a notebook kept for facts and informative descriptions about the social climate, another personal and full of anecdotes.

"Mon ami, are you ignoring me again?"

"My apologies, Alexander. Were you saying something?" Miles rubbed his eyes and tried to tell the darkness apart from the brunet now voicing out softer tones.

"I said you ought to rest as you look exhausted and, as your walking companion, I can't quite permit it. You may stay here if you wish."

"You are most kind," Miles' gaze flitted over Alex's fixed one, "but, as you're aware, I am fortunate enough to have a home."

The man took a step closer, their shoulders bumping together. "One you have never invited me to, aye."

"It's far too little," he clutched his sweaty hands, offering a weak smile, "too humble."

Alex gave a nod, slow, falling just short of a bow. "I understand..."

"...as I dearly hope you too understand how much I appreciate you, thereby annulling any reason for you to look so disquieted when I produce knifes from my pockets and hand them out or sharpen them. I can see you've got no business with them quite all right, mon ami. It'd be lunatic of me to have them coming anywhere near you. There's a reason I keep you close, after all. You surely don't believe me a man without a vision. "

"I do not, indeed." Miles resolved quickly, knowing his trust couldn't be put in question. "And I will stay if that's what you would prefer."

"I'd prefer you'd prefer it, Miles."

"It's settled then."

And so he lay on a sofa, tense at first and turning his back to where Alex lounged on the floor, as he swore he preferred, scared, he realised, not of being jumped on and slain but, actually of the alien feeling that came from dozing off in the vicinity of another sleeping body, from sharing a room this little. He could hear the quiet tainted with breathing sounds, and it didn't bother him, or made him miss his ample chamber and immaculate privacy. _This,_ he thought, _is one strange way to keep a friend company.  
_

 

 

 

X

"You must, madam, not keep quiet about it or settle for halving your children's portions, maybe sacrificing yours for them. This is indirect murder! And not to just you, but to everyone who's poor. Look around you," Alex waved his arms, his tie getting flapped. "our beloved Paris is so glum, so unnecessary hopeless!"

"You're quite right, young man. But what can we wives do? We've got children to look after, husbands to keep happy, chores to get done. I've been hoping something would change but-"

"Hope is useless if not paired with action! Act, lady, you must act. Spread the world and you'll see you're not alone in your discontent. Go out into the streets, and change will follow." He took a breath. "We did it on April, didn't we?"

The woman stood straighter, "I guess, yes!"

"Please don't give up now," Alex stretched his hand out, "you're a fighter."

"Thank you, dear, you two." She took the bags Alex had held for her and sang, "May God be with you!"

"Well," Alex approached him, half-cringing, half-smiling. "One thing at the time. The Church can only debilitate once monarchy is a thing of the past. We'll charge against it in its own time, oh, one life doesn't seem sufficient when you stop to think, does it? There's so much wrong with our France, Miles! So many injustices... and I can only do so little."

"I wouldn't call it that, Alexander. You do need to be more patient, nevertheless."

"Death is not patient, neither are passions or emotions Miles. Things need to happen...and they are not! It goes over my head, how calmly they watch their demise, their misery growing."

"Have you considered, perhaps, they are scared?"

"So what!" Alex blocked the way of a sturdy woman who scoffed and pushed him aside before he could open his mouth.

Miles chuckled in spite of himself, dusted off his light trousers. "You don't know much about that, I reckon, but fear...fear makes people hold back."

When he looked up again is because his body collides with a waiting Alex.

"What a simplistic logic! Action needs not mean thoughtlessness. I am afraid of a great deal of the things I do, pray tell me, how could I not be? As many, I've been brought up in fear, as if death was worse than living a life that makes you feel the rope is tight around your neck already, that you're only seconds away from having the floor under your feet _go_ and being hanged but it never comes, the agony stretches on and on and...still somehow you're supposed to be grateful! What life is that, Miles! We're people, all of us! Equal! Deserving of freedom!"

Miles was left groping for words as a visibly flushed Alex sighed and bent to pick up a newspaper a man had just tossed, aiming for the bin, probably, but missing and not caring enough to amend it.

"And so forth they dare complain Paris is dirty!"

"Wait!" Miles snatched the crumpled sheets from his agitated companion's hands.

"Something caught your attentive eye, mon ami?"

"I've heard some in our group prattle about how Le Mercure de France has been saying all good citizens are exhorted to march on Versailles." 

"Oh," Alex pursed his lips. "I'm afraid rumours spread around sometimes among those trying to make an impression on me, as if literacy shall make them stand out. It's a right, ought to be. "

Miles hummed in agreement. "Ah, here it is! There is even a rather vague mention of us. They put into question women's declarations about you, wonder whether maybe you exist exclusively in their, and I quote, 'foolish, rosy imagination'. I suggest you read this."

"You may toss it. I care not for _journalistes_ , lest of all belittling ones. It's so often the beaten who delivers the last blow! They ought to be more careful in their sayings, they-"

He held Alex's narrowing gaze as a shy cool breeze blew, and with it, a faint ringing sound. "Is that the peal of church bells? At this hour?"

"It'd be peculiar." Miles conceded, walking past Alex and towards the supposed source of the noise. He startled when his hand was snagged by Alex's and held tightly as the man's feet caught up in speed and surged forward, bringing him along. There was little doubt they were being discourteous, rushing like misbehaved children through narrow passages and cobbled streets where Miles felt compelled to vocalise some brief 'excuse us' and 'pardon sirs' to people he tripped over accidentally, a couple of insults shouted back when he almost knocks over a coffer two men were carrying. Alex, however, was oblivious and light in his movements, dodging people expertly and looking his usual level of unkempt when they stopped in front of Hotel de Ville and his hand was let go short after.

"Mon ami, finally!"

Alex hooked an arm around a lamppost and swirled around once, a fleeting smile shot at a gaping Miles that was looking at the ever-increasing mob of women and the odd man scattered around, walking into each other and shouting, aggressive, as they raided the building for weapons and marched on with the ecstatic energy that so often in the human beings' short history had preluded disaster. He got lost in the crude intensity of the moment until someone pushed him into Alexander, who was no longer pulling shenanigans around the pole but getting them through the growing crowd.

"Oh! Breathe in the humid air, isn't it quite fantastic? You feel it, do you not?"

Was he talking about time stopping, sounds blending together? Maybe about his voice becoming as soft as the wavy tresses his face kept getting pushed into? No, the arm around his waist was superfluous too. There was reality bleeding mayhem in front of him, gunpowder dripping down his eyelids and it occurred to him violence is too thrilling to be appalled by it. Too beautifully decadent, too rare in this great a scale. "Yes, Alex..."

And so he laid a hand on the man's back, squeezed a handful, elation apparent in his crisp laughter.

They separated in the bustling doorway, where a man was handing out spears. Miles accepted one with shaky hands and a sped up heart, Alex opting to dig around in a box for yet more sharp handheld weapons. "Careful, mon ami," he smirked when he saw Miles' loose hold on the wooden stick, helped him slant it to the left slowly so they could get through the archway and out to the streets all right. "Incidentally, I don't remember giving you permission to make a mockery out of my name, Miles."

"No, it's true." Miles rectified, settling in the flow of movement the crowd gave. "You did not _._ "

Driving the wooden end of the weapon into the ground to match his stomping, Miles started to feel maybe it wasn't everything just an odd coincidence. Maybe he actually had a reason to march, maybe he had been wishing for a change in the rules, after all, to venture into the unknown, at least being given a chance to.

_'_ _Le jour de gloire est arrive.'_

It was deafening and alive around him. Beating, all throughout the ground and up to the darkening sky. His fist united Alex's in the air and he caught it in a spur of something.

"Liberté, liberté chérie!"

 

 

 

X

There was something to be said about Alexander's unpredictability but if he'd known what it was exactly, how to pinpoint it, dissect it, dedicate it a line or a chapter, he would have already had. They'd got to Versailles in one piece, yes, broken voice, damp clothes and senseless feet aside, they'd been there to see people already gathered around when they arrived, he had seen it with his very two eyes, those tired but numerous bodies starting to pour into the Assembly without a second thought, and without being stopped.

But just then, when wide-eyed and vibrating inside he attempted to follow, the same brunet that shouted revolution at housemaid's bored faces and egged them on to do, act, never be still, yes, that exact same man had pulled at his woollen cuff and guided them away...away enough to see and hear but not to be a part. An active part. And once you sat it was quite over, legs turned into lead and water stopped sliding along your skin and instead pierced through.

_"Take it off or else I will, Miles."_

_"I'm all r-right" Miles looked at the top of the tree and got a drop into his eye._

_"Humbug! **I** am all right. I, too, have been down and out in the streets at eleven. That's a nice tailcoat you have, come on, you'll catch a cold."_

_"Not if you stare at me like that." Miles did not say. What was that supposed to mean, anyway?_

_He flung the garment off and handed it to Alex, praying he knew not about fine wools or expert confections. Watching the kneeling man fold it then do the same with his Carmagnole jacket, Miles grew drowsy and so coiled up against the tree trunk, seeking warmth and support._

_"And now what?"_

_"Now we wait. People are acting now, they needn't further motivation."_

_"Shouldn't we act, too?" Miles eyed Alex moving to sit by him. He had his lucky knife on his hand and was wiping some black spots off  it with his tie. "We could talk to..."_

_"The c_ _ount of Mirabeau?_ _? No...Marie! They sure will solve our problems all! Ah," his knees cracked on stretching them, "it's women's fight either way, we're here to support them...and turn to more effective methods if the talking proves as vapid as it so far has."_

_"Alexander, have you got yet another plan?!"_

_"Always, mon ami. Always."_

He'd fallen asleep. It was the embarrassing truth. Here he was, thick in the core of chaos and conflict and history shaping itself and he, with his sole purpose being recording everything back through his retina into his memory, had readily remained a blank page besides the man who was full of ink. From the tip of his toe to the straight line of his nose, words and plots and action...his metaphoric inkwell brought to a halt by no other than himself, reduced to a pillow as his own weak head weighed the brunet's shoulder down and anchored him to inaction.

On waking up, however, Miles noted his companion's spirits seemed as high as usual.

"Apparently, some selected few have been taken to talk to Louis..."

"To Louis!" Miles jerked awake and tried to stand up, forgetting about the concept of cramps, and the necessity of willing legs to move around.

"Easy." Alex patted his leg unhurriedly as the silence stretched, then took his hand away as if burned. "It's just more talking. Here, have some bread, mon ami. Aren't you hungry?"

"But...Alexander! We... _you_ should be there."

"Me?" Alex smirked, amused for a reason Miles cared not to understand.

"Yes, why, you!"

With a slow shake of his head, air fanning only half-dry curls, he brought up the pair of binoculars Miles had given to him some weeks ago. They had been his as a child, but he would use them so very little, and Alex would never shut up about the 'magic' of magnifying glass and how much he wished to find a pair amongst the trash someday. Miles finding them was the next best thing, but _are you sure you don't want to keep them for yourself?_

_"I think you'll use them far more than I."_

_"How thoughtful of you! I owe you one, Miles. "_

"Everything you saw I need you to tell me...in detail. Will you do that, Alexander? I beg of thee! You did not rest at the same time I did, I hope?"

"I'm only human, Miles." Alex shrugged and swiftly interrupted Miles before he could moan any longer in between mighty munching of hard crumbs. "Again, I'm also not improvised enough to not see the inherent risk there might be in such an action, so, no, mon ami, I remained quite awake if you must know. I even took some notes if you shall care to go through when it's not so dark, I'm-"

"You took notes?!" Miles parroted, debating whether he'd ever seen Alex's handwriting. Wouldn't it be odd, a quill in his grasp instead of a knife, rocks or ropes.

"I figured it is what you would have done... _sacré bleu!_ Do you see what my eyes are seeing, Miles?"

Miles frowned at the unnecessary rhetorical question. "No, pray tell!"

"Lafayette has come, the national guards seem to be siding with the women, wait- _zut_ , they're breaking in? _Quoi!_ "

It turned out they were, indeed, breaking in through an unguarded door that, some rumoured, led to the king's bedchamber. Miles bent and grasped his knees, still working on regaining his breath from pursuing what looked like a magnet helplessly racing to a point of collision. Sliding a glance up at Alex, he could tell the man was throbbing inside out with excitement, the mindless sucking of his chapped lips and the sudden letting go of his arm told him enough.

"Let's go through, Alexander." He proposed at the same time Alex faced left to look at him in the eye.

"Stay here."

"Pardon?"

"Yes, in fact, go back to that tree we were under." Alex mumbled, words melting into each other. "If someone comes at you, I suggest you run but... you can have this one."

"No," Miles flipped one of Alex's favourite daggers on his hand, surprised he'd give it away so easily. Wasn't it his lucky charm? "I want to go with you, I will...!"

"It's not up for discussion, mon ami."

And for half an hour, it wasn't. Miles stood anxiously in the entrance, pacing back and forth, not being able to decide where to place his trust and act in accordance. Granted, he disliked feeling like missing out but, on the other hand, he didn't want to be a burden to Alex in whatever he was engaging in if the man deemed him not fit, but still- why bring him here to leave him behind and alone? Fate, or chance, at last, made the decision for him when his presence drew attention to the side entrance and he, being a curious person and secretly a bit of a worrier, did nothing to stop the little groups from filtering in until one convinced him to tag along as they walked through narrow passages with tall, broad windows from which velvet curtains majestically hung, drawn, and tiles which weren't quite tiles but pieces of bigger artful patterns where marble rock and polish blended beautifully in variegated shades.

Only people weren't looking at this, but disbanding, quickly, sprinting at the sound of dim echoes drawing near. Zachary, a large built man he and Alex had met in the march, pulled him around a corner. He was made to crouch behind a row of lavish armchairs and wondered absently what would be the use of them when a deep voice growled out curses.

"What's..."

"Miles, quiet!"

"...rushing around _comme des rats?_ Well, this is my response dirty buggers. I'm not a priest, I'm not the king, I'm here to kill, kill, kill!"

Miles paled at hearing the emphasising gunfire, restraining an exclamation only by means of a hand that wasn't his, a bloodied hand, as cold as determined. He tried to back off, his vomit reflex a breath from being set off yet somewhat hampered by the realisation that he was by Zachary's side no longer, he was lumping against someone's chest and...ragged white pantaloons.  
  
"Alexander!" He said not, but turned around to see the man peeking over the cloth and slowly moving away from him and into a crouching position. He could sense his body tensing as steps drew closer and bounced off the walls along with animated laughter, something being said about the _monstruosité_ of big rats when observed from close. A ghost of a breath trickled his ear, as ephemeral as his sudden appearance.

"Don't look."

And so he didn't. For all he was aware the repeated thuds and shrill, half-muffled cries for mercy could mean Alex stabbed the man through the eyes, severed his fingers or maybe simply slit open his throat but Zach...he did see Zach, lying limp, his eyes white like the marble he was steadily painting red, pieces of something rosy- _his stomach...or liver?_ \- flowing away from him.

"Zachary?" He whispered, reaching for his heavy arm and shaking it out of pure shock. It wasn't just his midriff, a part of his face was missing too.

So the firing had been directed at them? Horrified, he glanced upwards to the armchair he had been hiding behind and spotted a defined circle from where some feathers fell, to linger in the air. Miles gawked, unable to process the velocity of the process. How could life be taken away so abruptly? Why?

"What did I tell you?!" Alex pushed him further back again into the curtain-covered space and collapsed on his knees. "What did I _foutu_ tell you?!"

The grip fear had on him continued to tighten at his quick assess of Alexander. It was not only his voice that had been deprived of any prior coolness, it was his posture, his quickened breathing. Dagger dropped and forgotten, he was wiping red into the curtains' cloth with shaky hands that looked not out of place attached to a body that shivered and clenched rhythmically along. There was sweat, too, when he extended his hand out to touch the man's hair-covered face, then swept it down to where a bloodstain looked fresh and expanding, underneath it blue, shiny, except for at that angle, that right angle that soon had Miles' heart speeding up because ties were all too thin and weak to be knotted when silky. Foreign as the skin was on his fingers and eyes, it should be warm and clear, of that he was sure, but he'd frozen in place like a statue. He stared pain, heard letters. Why wouldn't his body respond? How could he be not actively intervening, when it was just him? When it looked like the quill was in his hand now and he was no longer an observer but a vital part of the course it would take but what was there to do with a feather, with useless ink? He felt liquid coating through his fingers and pressed down harder in turn.

"I...I told you _not-_ not to-to..." 

"I'll get you out, come on! We must find a medic to aid you!" Miles snapped. "Here is your favourite weapon, take it."

Alex blinked heavily then shook his head no.

"I can't see, I- it's blurry...I was ready to settle down here to-when I heard Zachary telling _you_ to be quiet. I-I'd have never forgive myself...but now..."

"Now it's you who has to be quiet, follow my lead for once, will you? The exit is not far away!"

"I..." Alex bit back a cry when made to stand up, unloading some of his weight as he threw an arm over the taller man's shoulder. "Yes, I must get you safe back out. I'll be your shield, just don't you dare stand foolishly, you must dash to the exit. I- you may want to keep it out of your notes but, Miles, I quite like you. And it'd upset me terribly if you died in here, because of me. I am fine."

Arm wrapped around his hip, Miles pressed Alex closer to him and started taking baby steps along the wall. He sighed, his chest closing in a little, "I like you, too."

"We may meet again sometime- wait, I'll peek over," Alex leaned past the pillared corner and looked around, arm jolting madly where he held onto Miles.

A moment after he moved back, dark gaze for once not telling and, in a gesture Miles couldn't altogether decipher, threw his other arm around his neck, head deliberately going to rest on his shoulder.

"Alex? I can't-"

A soft cadence slipped into his ear, and bounced freely in his mind. "I-I'll miss your company forever if we don't."

He slid just as smoothly from his grip, from his untrained hands that couldn't make it _right._ Not the lids twitching or the blood pouring out mightily; not the pained sounds his mouth seemed unable to keep making, or the coldness expanding. Kneeling by him Miles wished for their roles to be reversed. Surely Alexander would know what to do, or have the strength to move him, or the stomach to watch him pass away. Upset is not utterly devastated, breathless, angry heart thumping accusingly at your sheer uselessness.

"Flee F-fra -"

In a fit of dread and desperation Miles pushed down harder on the wound, and started screaming at the man to stop it. This. A period, that was exactly what they needed. A new paragraph wherein everything was solved and they were fine. How could the man had been so careless, at any rate? He'd been involved in fights before! Wasn't his body supposed to heal faster? Didn't he have a plan? "Alex you cannot, I beg of you!"

"Mom, it is him!"

A white linen dress, blondish braids. He barely registered a girl drop beside Alexander and break into loud bawling before hands, gloved, came to block his vision and haul him up and away, where the every trace of tumult ceased.

X

 


	2. Deux

 

"And so culminates this ten-page entry about Alexander. I never saw him again."

Michelle stood up, and stomped the parqueted floor with the heel of her decorated-with-colour-thread-embroidery leather shoes. "But! Uncle! You always leave stories unfinished, it's most irritating."

Little John clapped, still on the carpet and eyeing curiously the journal the older man held. "She was daughter!"

" _His_ daughter you mean, don't you?" Joan picked up her brother and arranged him on her lap, combing his blond curls affectionately. At fourteen, she had plenty of experience with this type of situations. Unless asked enthusiastically about it, uncle Miles would end his every anecdote in an awful cliffhanger. "Who was she uncle? Did she save him? You must know! You cannot _not_ know!"

"Tell us!" Michelle echoed.

"All right, settle, settle." Miles cracked a smile, patting the red curls of the inquisitive nine-year old that had pounced onto the arm of his couch and was now trying to peek at his writings, an always brave endeavour.

"Your cursive is so foul, Uncle!"

"She was Marie's daughter."

"Marie's!" Joan gasped, hugging her brother closer. "Marie Antoinette's older daughter, is that right?"

"Yes, she must have been a ten years of age at that time. Alexander had found her hiding in a corner, crying for her mum. Thinking it was one of the women's daughters he picked her up and set to take her outside but then she whimpered on, _'Marie, I want my mere. Take me to her.'_ Quite predictably, the men in his company demanded him to kill her..."

"Oh crumbs!" Michelle spat out in a high voice. "Uncle-"

"Sister! Let him finish." Joan warned as she watched the rebellious girl ignore her completely and shake her head, red curls bouncing out of the hairstyle she'd spent all morning carefully arranging for her.

"...he didn't, did he? He can't have!"

"No, dear, he didn't. He refused to on the grounds children cannot be held accountable for their parents doings and so pushed her towards a hallway he heard guards approaching down from. Soon labelled a traitor, an altercation began and they succeeded in stabbing him, his own people... leaving him to bleed out in the open as they scurried to hide." Miles felt his choler rising and so paused to exhale. "He scrambled to reach a window and sat behind those heavy curtains, attempting at some bandage but giving up when seeing he was rapidly losing strength and wouldn't be able to get himself out without help. I came by quite timely, you see. Anyway, the girl was rightly reunited with Marie but, having seen men attack her rescuer she demanded he be found and aided by the physicians that resided with them in the palace...and Marie obliged, sending for hers, who in turn saved his life."

"He survived!"

"Yes, John, he did, love!" Joan cooed at the boy then gazed back at the black-haired man his mother inexplicably called a babbling bore. "I love happy endings. You did know quite a bunch of revolutionary young men back in France, uncle!"

"Wait, actually...how did you know all this?" Michelle folded her arms. "And where were you taken to in the end? I do not understand!"

_They wanted me to slaughter her, cold-bloodedly, a defenceless child. And I'd more readily be a corpse than a monster. I have nothing but principles, and I always act according to them, Your Highness._

"Marie..."He felt their eyes all on him, but most acutely a dark pair pricking his nape as if he'd find them there, were he to turn around, just centimetres away and regarding him warily.

_You tell too much._

But children...nephews and nieces! They had worked their way into his heart, too, with their blind trust, curiosity and pure awe at his every word. Reading his unpublished diary entries to them was a little absolution, safe as long as they preserved that immaculate ignorance about life outside their reveries, game and books- and slightly skewed notions on how many people is too many people to know in detail, to be allowed to follow around in times trust was scarcer than diamonds.

"Marie let him go on the condition he immediately stopped drumming up support to his 'nonsensical causes' and ordered him to flee France in no more than thirty days. I was taken along to witness this as well as his compliance and acceptance of capital punishment if he were to break said official order. In a chaise we went back to Paris, and I offered him to say on a quiet room I had back in the university I taught at. It was supposed to be a library for me and other history teachers to consult but since it was attached uniquely to my office they rarely came, seeing they'd have to make some conversation with me and, well, it hardly did not end with a heated long-winded argument about the current state of the country and the ought-to-be solutions. Everyone intellectual was very sensitive about their views, it...it was a complicated period in more than one sense. But I digress; Alexander recovered just fine and...went on his ways. Found a new basement and settled, probably started a new underground movement, I reckon. The revolution was on its earliest stages still."

"So you did aid him! You took such a big risk, uncle! You don't strike one as the temerarious type...but then love makes people behave awfully weird." Joan mulled out loud just before a friendly voice sang _'Who wants biscuits?'_ and sent her younger sister springing down to the right, almost knocking two vases in the process as she broke into her _'me, me, me'_ discourteous chant John copied eagerly enough, fidgeting on her lap and readily favouring food over priceless anecdotes.

"And you just love history so much!" She concluded, dreamily, hoping to feel half as passionate about a subject someday. "Great story uncle Miles. I wish Mother and Father attended parties oftener so we could listen to more."

"They..." Miles let out the breath he'd been holding, then got up to head where the brimming cups of tea and plates filled with biscuits had been settled on the round table. "They would lose their magic if you heard them periodically. You are familiar with most already, I'd wager."

"No!" Michelle wiped her mouth with the back of her hand then giggled at her sister gesturing her to use the napkin on her lap. "You never told us how you met David, for example. And he makes tarts and biscuits better than Mother!"

"Don't go around saying that now, eh, Michs." David rebuked, pulling a chair back for Miles to sit. "They're very likely just different."

John giggled at their interactions. "More story!"

"Stori _es,_ dear _._ And we say 'please' when addressing adults."

"I will..." the redhead sipped her tea and assessed David as he picked the empty seat beside Miles after her uncle asked him, much predictably, to join them. The slim man looked marginally funnier than usual with his shoulder-long hair set loose and that red apron still on, still, she found it hard to deny she liked him very much. In reality, she could picture herself drawing him in her own diary soon, with hearts floating all around. If only she were older! Or he younger! He was in some way different like her and yet surprisingly nice to look at, way better than uncle at fencing, too... just like her! "If you tell me how he met you! Were you some fighter back in France also?! Or a cook! Did you have a wife? Do you still love her? Because in school they taught us the wedding vows and it says 'till death do us part'! So if you do...don't. It's wrong!"

Miles opened his mouth but closed it as a soft hand pressed his against his thigh, and he felt his cheeks rapidly catch colour, his niece's attention thankfully deviated by the very same man taking a bite of the biscuit the inquisitive girl was pointing at him.

"You-you- but... manners! That was mine!"

"The day you cook perhaps, _petite fille!_ "

Joan took the chance to lean close to Miles and whisper into his ear her happy discovery, "And he must really love _you_ to leave his cherished France and cause behind."

"He's a cook." Miles announced, clutching Alex hand enough to make the man face scrunch up in pain. " _David_ was a _chef de cuisine_ I usually bought falafels from back in France. Isn't that so, David?"

Alex forced a smile. " _Oui._ And I never married, young lady."

"How... you're...?" Michelle slapped her forehead and stared at the man in a daze before hitting the table with a fist and taking in the rest of the what had been said. "I knew it! You look nothing like uncle's boring university friends!"

"Oh, of course!" Joan feigned surprise then nodded calmly as if processing much sought for information. Uncle looked much too pale and tense, as if hit for the very first time by the feeling of being loved by a friend, past revolutionary or not. "Uncle, it makes perfect sense! I wish my best friend Lucy and I stay together for such a long time!"

"Eh? That's not right." Michelle arched an eyebrow. "What about _me,_ Uncle?! You said we would always stay friends! Even in Heaven!"

"Fiend is not best fiend, silly!"

"John, it's-"

"You're family, you will always be." David clarified, spreading jam on a sugared biscuit and passing it to a pouty Michelle before sending what he liked to think of his other half in this life an unsure look. "We...we're very best friends, wouldn't you say Miles?"

"Yes." He said, firm. Firm as his sister would be to prohibit him from seeing the kids again if they ever happened to naively slip in any comment about his supposed male servant being that close to him. "And, with time, I'm sure you'll find yours. Now finish your tea."

"...so we can go play tag outside! It's rather sunny," David sang out, heartily, as Alex did once speeches and now, grown considerably soft with age, the occasional sentimental confessions. "Lucky for you, children, times are slowly changing."

But there remains, now small-scale, inner revolutions worth fighting too, someday perhaps, brought out to the streets- or so Alex liked to muse.

_I shall go on to love you platonically in tint but, for this life, I rather pile up secrets than regrets based on illusionary fears. To me you've never been a danger, mon amant- just joy, Miles, infinite joy._

 

X

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there's many inaccuracies in this, probably. I'm just very sappy and random and old (turned 20 on Thursday lol). S/o to Emilie Simon for making such perfect music that makes me want to write soft things (their gentle love in contrast to the UTTER chaos^^). Anyway, I listened to- you guessed it!- 'The Frozen World' on repeat while writing this so give it a try if you want, it's a soul-cleansing experience. *-* ♥
> 
> (Also, Alex's middle name is David irl in case you didn't know ;))


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